


Divine retribution

by Zeckarin



Series: And they were roomates... (but there were two beds) [18]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Queerplatonic Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:27:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22597042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeckarin/pseuds/Zeckarin
Summary: There are more angels in the bookshop than usual.They are not friendly.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: And they were roomates... (but there were two beds) [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1523585
Comments: 36
Kudos: 224
Collections: Hurt Aziraphale





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> February's ficlets #6  
> Prompt "prepare yourself, I am going to hug you"
> 
> There are several allusions to previous stories, but no need to read them to follow this one really :
> 
> Gabriel and his 3 friends have been punished by God for trying to destroy Aziraphale. They have to spend three years on earth without their powers.
> 
> Raphael is in charge of Heaven for now, and she is way nicer to Aziraphale than her colleagues, since she shares his love of Humanity.

Golden ichor was dripping on the bookshop’s floor.

The angels were coldly polite, and explained why they were doing this in a calm, mild tone.

It was not about anger, nor revenge. It was about divine retribution. It was about justice. About Right and Wrong. But Aziraphale had a 6000 years experience of deceiving himself, and he could recognise it in others easily enough. He could see it in their eyes.

They were angry. They were hurt. They felt betrayed, and lost.

All these feelings he knew only too well, and knowing he was the one to evoke them in the five entities in front of him was hurting much more than the wounds.

He coughed a mouthful of angelic blood, unable to stop the reflex. He was used to pretending being human, needing to breathe and to blink, and it had become a part of him. Difficult not to breathe without focusing now. Another angelic failing in Gabriel’s book, certainly.

_They had no idea._ That was not truly unexpected, but Aziraphale had thought that at least angels knew why Gabriel and his goons had been punished.

Well, apparently they didn't. Every angel in Heaven seemed to think Gabriel had been banished for letting Armageddon fail, not for trying to murder a fellow angel.

That it was _Aziraphale_ 's fault if the Archangels had been deprived of their powers.

One banished Archangel, one stab. That’s what they’d said. He had thought at first that it would be quick, but now that it was over another problem had arisen... If only they could hurry up with it, maybe everything could be over and done before Crowley’s return.

Aziraphale himself was afraid for a lot of reasons, none of them pleasant to Crowley if he’d been there, he knew it.

-He didn’t want any ichor on his precious books (ichor was dreadful to miracle away. Simply dreadful).

-He didn’t want these angels to be punished because of him, and he was fairly certain Raphael would be highly displeased if she ever learned about this.

-He didn’t want Crowley to show up and go mental. This thought related closely to the second one, to be honest. He had no doubts as to whom would get hurt if Crowley showed up to see him dripping ichor all over the 600 years old Persian rug he’d offered him in 1348 as a “thank you for not letting me discorporate from the plague, angel” gift.

-He didn’t want to discorporate, even if he was fairly certain another corporation wouldn’t be very hard to obtain. Crowley would freak out. And discorporation was quite painful. He was a little concerned about his chest wound. The two others weren’t deadly in themselves, but the chest one was problematic.

He was rather eager to see his five companions take their leave. He had let them strike without a murmur, but their last request was difficult to grant.

“You obviously know your actions were despicable, since you accepted your punishment without a fight. Why is it so difficult for you to do this ?” asked the leader.

“I did nothing wrong in refusing to fight, and I do not regret having tried to stop Armageddon. I can not beg for Her forgiveness when there is nothing to forgive.”

“How _dare_ you blaspheme like this ! You thwarted Her Great Plan ! You are a traitor and you disgraced us all ! Beg for Her mercy ! Show Her your remorse !”

Aziraphale sighed, and regretted it immediately as his vision blurred under a new wave of pain. He tried to answer in a clear voice.

“I can not ask for… forgiveness when I feel no guilt. I am afraid you will have to… go without hearing these words.”

“We have time. We have eternity, _Principality_ ,” answered the angel, his voice dripping with contempt. Aziraphale closed his eyes in sorrow.

This was so, so sad. He hadn’t often felt that much grief. This was worse than the Archangel’s disdain.

The doorbell jingled. The angel’s eyes snapped open.

“Go,” he murmured with anguish, trying to catch their eyes. “go now, quickly !”

But they didn’t move, and he cursed Michael for teaching them so little self preservation.

He had tried to hide his situation from Crowley, and had been successful so far, but his demon had senses that couldn’t be fooled. And ichor had a very recognizable smell.

Silence, then dread. A terror so intense the angel winced under the emotion.

“Aziraphale !” yelled the familiar voice.

“I am here, Crowley. I am fine.”

His friend got to the back room's door so fast human eyes couldn’t have followed him. In a blink, he was spreading his wings in front of the wounded angel, Hellfire in both hands, and his eyes full of murder.

The angels hadn’t the slightest chance now…

Aziraphale’s hand shot up, grabbing the demon’s sleeve.

“No ! Crowley, no ! Please don’t !”

Crowley went rigid.

“They hurt you, Aziraphale,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “They hurt you and they will _burn_ for it.”

“No,” pleaded his friend weakly. “Let them go. Please. Please, Crowley...”

Hellfire flickered and disappeared.

“ **Get**. **Out**.” said Crowley to the five interlopers.

The four underlings looked at their leader, whose eyes shot nervously to Aziraphale.

“Listen to him, you fool” ordered the injured angel tiredly.

In a second, the bookshop was empty of any angelic presence, save from a very weak Principality.

Crowley kneeled next to him, laying a hand on his back without a word, his eyes cold as stones. Worry flashed on his face before his impassible mask returned. “I can’t heal you. Angelic weapons ?”

“Yes. Blessed… blades.”

“Of course it was. You need to heal yourself.”

Aziraphale nodded numbly, focusing on his wounds to stop the loss of blood.

Crowley was very still and suspiciously silent next to him. The angel looked at him. This wasn’t anger on the demon’s face, as he’d assumed. He gathered his remaining strength to clear his mind and focus on his friend. Something was very wrong. Crowley hadn’t looked that hurt since Armageddon’s day at the bandstand. And the angel had vowed never to elicit that kind of wounded expression from his friend ever again.

He could stand discorporation, but hurting Crowley was not acceptable.

“Crowley ? What is wrong ?”

The demon snarled “What is wrong ? Do you really have to ask ? _Look_ at you !”

“My wounds have nothing to do with this. Tell me what’s wrong, Crowley.”

The demon jumped on his feet, turning away with tight lips.

“Nothing. Should have known, really.”

“Know what, exactly ?” asked the angel, pushing his pain away. Taking care of his corporation was not the priority. Something was very wrong in his demon’s aura.

“You _stopped_ me ! You didn’t let me fight !”

“I… yes, I did. Thank you for listening.”

“Yeah, you’re so very _welcome_ ,” answered Crowley, his voice dripping disdain.

“I do not understand. Why are you so angry at me ?”

Crowley looked down for a minute, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath, seeming to come to terms with something

“It’s nothing. It’s… It’s all right angel. Everything is fine.

“It certainly isn’t !” declared Aziraphale, scrambling to his feet. “ _T_ _alk_ to me, Crowley !”

“Sit down, for the love of… just sit down, you’re hurt. It’s all right. We’re all right. I understand. Angels… they never fell. They’re… their lives are more important to you. I understand.”

Aziraphale’s eyes suddenly widen in understanding. “You think your life isn’t as valuable to me as that of a random ANGEL ?”

Crowley huffed in annoyance. “No, course not. I know you’ll fight any angel to save me. It’s just...”

Aziraphale had a lot of failings. Stupidity never had been amongst them. “You think the life of a random angel is more important to me than that of a demon.”

“Honestly, I don’t blame you, angel.”

“But you should !” exclaimed Aziraphale. “If that was the truth, you _should_ blame me !”

“… I don’t understand...” declared the demon with a sigh.

“Crowley, this is not what you are thinking...” Aziraphale’s face crumbled, shortly followed by his whole corporation. Crowley caught him just before he hit the ground.

“Oi ! Heal yourself, you idiot !”

The angel smiled weakly. “Can’t… no Grace… left.”

This time the concern stayed on the demon’s features. “Don’t discorporate, stupid !”

“Raphael...” breathed the angel, closing his eyes in exhaustion.

“Rapha… what do you..? Oh, shit, of course !” yelled Crowley, cursing himself before carefully helping his friend to sit on the couch, then clasping his hands together with a grimace.

 _Stupid_ angel, getting stabbed without even putting a fight, like the complete _moron_ he was, and forcing him to _pray_ ! Him ! Pray !

“Raphael, get your butt down here NOW !”

This possibly wasn’t the most conventional prayer, but the feelings were genuine, and a rush of archangelic Grace flooded the room a few seconds later.

“What are you doing, demon ?” snapped Raphael before taking in the scene.

“Aziraphale,” she murmured anxiously before rushing to him, taking his face between her hands and pressing her forehead against his.

The angel relaxed instantly, and opened his eyes.

“Thank you, my dear.”

“Who did this to you ?” demanded the Archangel.

Aziraphale avoided her eyes.

“Tell me,” she pressed.

“I will not,” was the stubborn answer.

“There were five,” provided Crowley a little more harshly than he intended. Then he described the five suckers with great precision.

“I… see,” murmured Raphael with a glance at Aziraphale, who held her gaze without a flinch.

There was a silent exchange that Crowley didn’t like one bit.

“Oi ! Will someone explain to me who these fuckers were ?”

“I will punish them, Aziraphale. If you agree to it.”

“I do not.” was the short answer.

“Very well,” huffed Raphael, shaking her head like a disappointed mother. “If you ever change your mind, call me. They’re your underlings after all.”

Aziraphale stared at the floor without a word. Crowley closed his eyes in shame.

 _Underlings_. Oh, _flames_. He couldn’t even process the information.

Angels had come to earth to hurt Aziraphale. And these angels were his _men_ ? From his own _Platoon_ ? This was… unimaginable.

No wonder the angel hadn’t wanted him to hurt them. He’d trained them. Taught them to fight. At least until 6000 years ago, when he’d become a Principality and… was it Michael ? Yes, Crowley was fairly sure. Michael had taken over.

He couldn’t even imagine how his angel was feeling right now.

Despised by his own men. Stabbed, rejected. By angels he’d cared so much about. Angels he’d taught to survive. To care. To love.

_You little shits. You absolute despicable scums. All of you._

Raphael stared at Aziraphale for a while, then shrugged and smiled.

"You know where to find me if you ever change your mind."

And in a blink, she was gone.

Crowley took a few steps and stopped right in front of Aziraphale. The angel looked so tired. Not even looking at him.

“Angel ?”

His friend met his eyes, blinking slowly. Bless, he looked so _exhausted_.

“Prepare yourself, Aziraphale. I’m going to hug you.”

Aziraphale smiled. A tiny, weak sort of smile, but one that reached his eyes and crinkled his crow’s feet.

To Crowley, it was a huge victory.


	2. The visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of the angels that attacked Aziraphale is back.  
> Crowley is Not Happy about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> February's ficlet #9  
> (I did it ! I'm back on tracks !)
> 
> This story didn't want to get out of my head. It needed a second chapter.  
> Now I feel better.

“AZIRAPHALE !”

The angel started, almost dropping the tray he was holding to the floor. A quick miracle prevented any tea to spill from the mugs, and the plate of biscuits didn’t move.

Oh. Crowley was back early. He’d hoped to greet him and explain the situation, not have him walk on their… visitor without being present to act as a buffer.

He didn’t feel any deadly intent in his friend’s aura, so he took the time to climb down the stairs instead of miracling his way back near the sofa.

“What ever is the matter, my dear ?” he asked casually, entering the back room.

The demon’s head shot up, and he took his glasses off in a swift, snake-like movement to stare at him in incredulity.

“What’s the… oh, I am _sorry_ , angel ! Didn’t know I was interrupting bloody _tea_ - _time_ ! What on EARTH are you doing ? Holding a tea party in your bookshop with this… this… what’s going on here ?”

“Now, Crowley, dear, calm down. There is no need to yell that loud, we can perfectly hear you.”

The angel sitting on one of the armchairs chose this highly inappropriate moment to talk.

“I am only here to talk to Aziraphale. Be gone, demon.”

Aziraphale sighed, and Crowley gaped.

“I fucking _beg your pardon_ ? What did you just say, _angel_ ?” and that word held not an ounce of warmth. It was dripping in so much venom it seemed a different word altogether.

The unexpected guest was obviously worried, scared, even, and that wasn’t surprising, considering Crowley had let his fangs and claws grow the instant he’d spotted the strange angelic presence in THEIR home, but he didn’t recoil, which was impressive, reckoned the demon begrudgingly.

“I am saying you have no need to be witness to this conversation.”

Crowley slowly, slowly turned back to Aziraphale, corking one eyebrow. They exchanged a glance.

When you spend a certain amount of time around someone else, you can understand what that person thinks in certain occasions. The more you know them, the more these occasions occurs.

Six thousands years was more than enough time to be able to hold entire conversations without uttering a single word (sometimes not even requiring to be in the same room).

//Crowley would go and leave them alone if his friend didn’t want him near for this business with the angel that _stabbed_ him in the gut only a week ago. He perfectly understood if Aziraphale wanted to be left alone with that fucker and offer him tea, and did Crowley mentioned the _stabbing_ ?//

//Would Crowley stop being ridiculous for a minute, of _course_ he could stay and listen, he could also take part of the exchange if he felt like it, and would he _please_ stop referring to the bookshop as Aziraphale’s ? It belonged to Crowley just as much.//

The glance had only taken a second, and the unnamed (at least to Crowley) angel started fidgeting.

 _Good_. Thought the demon, stepping closer. He remembered _that_ hand holding a blessed dagger.

“You said you wanted to tell me something, Gadreel,” said Aziraphale, stepping in to dispatch the mugs. Crowley smelled the faintest hint of whiskey in his, and smiled inwardly.

“Yes, I… I wanted to come and…” the angel closed his eyes dejectedly. “I wanted to explain.”

 _Explain_ ? Thought Crowley in anger. _Explain why_ five _angels would corner another to_ stab _him ? How do you intend to explain_ that _, you fucker ?_

“Go on then,” was Aziraphale’s polite answer, and Crowley took a huge gulp of his coffee. Bless, the angel had used a heavy hand on the whiskey.

He took another gulp, just to make sure.

The angel started to talk, looking at the wall with great interest.

“That day, when the end was near, we were waiting for you. All the other were already ready on the battlefield. And we were proud. We were the platoon of Aziraphale. The only Principality, who chose to stay and guide Humanity. We could have waited days for you to take leadership. You had made Her proud. You had guided her favourite creation towards greatness when every other angel abandoned them.”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale softly, taking a sip of his tea. “Thought that from the beginning, did you now ?”

 _You utter bastard_ , thought Crowley with fond pride.

Gadreel blushed.

“I… we… no, not from the beginning. We were ashamed at first, when you chose to stay on earth. Humans had failed Her. She had rejected them. We thought you should have done the same.”

Aziraphale hummed non-committally.

“But then the humans multiplied, and they started creating so many things… and they loved so much ! The Almighty started doing miracles for them, guiding them, punishing them, and we all understood that She still loved them, as we should have. You had been the only one to follow her vision. We were ashamed of ourselves, and we all vowed never to doubt you ever again.”

“How kind,” declared Aziraphale dryly.”I imagine that you are only referring to the platoon, and not the entirety of the Host”.

“Ah… yes. The others were… thinking differently.”

“I can imagine that,” uttered Crowley in the exact same tone his friend had used ten seconds ago.

“So, when exactly _did you_ start to doubt me again ?” questioned Aziraphale. Compassion was one of his main traits, but it didn’t mean he had to make things easier for his underling. Crowley looked at him with no small amount of awe. He knew his angel could be sharp and merciless, but he rarely had the privilege to see it.

Gadreel blushed and squeezed his hands tighter together. To use that gesture under stress was probably an angelic thing, thought the demon dispassionately.

“Armageddon day,” he murmured. “When you refused to fight and chose to get back to earth. We were… all convinced you would Fall.”

Crowley hissed in fury, and only realised he was about to attack that little piece of garbage when a familiar hand on his forearm stopped him.

“Why are you here ?” he snapped at Gadreel. he’d intended a nice evening out with his best friend, and would certainly not postpone it to help that little shit feel better about what he’d done.

“I… I wanted to ask forgiveness,” blurted the angel, finally deciding to get to the point.

“You have it. You already had it last time I saw you,” answered Aziraphale softly, but without the slightest hint of affection, noticed the demon with relief.

Gadreel nodded forlornly.

“I have to say I am disappointed in you,” added the Principality. “I thought I taught you that torture is despicable.”

Gadreel’s head shot up “We didn’t-”

Crowley growled menacingly. The angel’s mouth snapped shut.

“And may I ask how this… change of mind happened ?” asked Aziraphale, raising one eyebrow.

Gadreel looked down. “Raphael summoned the Host...”

“All of them ?” prompted Crowley in surprise.

The young angel nodded. “Yes. She… explained that the Archangels hadn’t been punished for failing to bring Armageddon. They had been because they tried to destroy an angel. She didn’t say a name, but it was quite obvious. All of the Host knows now that God Herself took your defense. I… we all were...”

“Ashamed ? Embarrassed ? Despising yourselves ? Wanting to crawl on your knees to beg your commanding officer’s forgiveness ?” provided Crowley icily.

“We… we are ashamed...” blurted Gadreel.

“Ashamed is not enough ! You attacked him ! You stabbed him ! You acted no better than a bunch of bloodlust demons against a cornered soul !”

“Crowley, my dear… please calm down,” implored Aziraphale in concern.

“You are right. I know that now. I do not understand why She didn’t punish me," sighed the young angel.

“Who ? God, or Raphael ?” snarled Crowley.

Gadreel bowed his head. “Raphael explained to us that she was aware of what we’d done. And that you asked her not to take measures against us.”

“I see...” murmured Aziraphale.

Gadreel got to his feet. “I will go back now. I only wanted to tell you I repent for my actions. Please do not resent the others, I was the one pushing them to come here. I was angry, and I felt betrayed. This certainly isn’t an excuse, but it is the truth. I also wanted to give you this...”

He reached out, and Aziraphale took the scrap of paper from his fingers.

“What is that ?”

Gadreel blushed again. “Two names. The ones that kept defending you even when the other platoons rejected and despised us. I thought that you ought to know you had at least two underlings who had been faithful to you, even against me and the others.”

Aziraphale took a shuddering breath.

“Alright !” barked Crowley, startling everyone. “Don’t outstay your welcome. Have a nice trip back. Bye !”

Gadreel vanished without a word, and the demon looked at his friend.

“You all right ?”

“I… I rather think I am. I didn’t expect to have someone believing in me, let alone two, to be honest.”

“Who are they ? Tell me their names.”

The angel bit his lip.

“I… I am not sure I should look. Maybe it is better not to know.”

Crowley squinted his eyes.

“Yeah… I think I see your point. It’s not about the names on that paper, right ? It’s about the names that aren’t on it.”

The angel’s silence was enough of an answer.

“You know better than this. You really, really do. Read it, Aziraphale. They defended you when no one else would. You owe them that much.”

“You are right. Of course you are, I know it.”

Aziraphale looked away, biting his lip again and turning the folded note in his hands. Crowley extended his arm.

“Come on angel, give me that. I’ll read it to you,” he said softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next prompt will be : "This is exactly what it looks like"  
> It will feature BAMF Aziraphale. Like... really, really BAMF. I'm warning you :)


End file.
